


Kids

by grumpynymph



Series: Mt. Massive High [1]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Meeting, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, mt massive high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:10:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9178975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpynymph/pseuds/grumpynymph
Summary: They both could use a friend.





	

Sometimes he had to get away.

The skateboard had been a gift from his mother, presented to him on his 12th birthday. Complete with a detailed mural of an angel etched onto the underside, the treasured object had delighted him. There were rarely days he could be kept off it. 

Over time, Eddie developed a system. Once the shouting would start, he would go to his room. If he could hear it through the walls, he would go to the attics. If he could still hear it through the floor, he would go for a ride. 

When he was 15, the noise got really bad. Twice a month turned into twice a week, a day, an hour. He went for longer rides. 

It was 4:30 AM on a Saturday. All he could hear was the sound of wheels against tar, and all he could feel was the wind in his hair and the ground under his foot as he pushed himself farther from his father's voice. He found himself circling the borders of the small town, tracing hoops around the bounds that held him in. There was a certain freedom in knowing he could break the bubble whenever he wanted. He could run as far as he wanted, no one would bother to look. 

Eddie didn't bother asking himself why he didn't, why he wouldn't. 

All that mattered was the squeak of his sneakers against gravel, and the droplets of sweat dripping down his neck. He knew if he jumped off the board and flipped it over, the angel would still be smiling at him. If no one else did, she always would. 

6:00. Eddie raked a hand through a clump of damp black hair. By this time, most fathers were going off to work, getting in their shiny cars and checking their reflections in little rearview mirrors. He knew his would be somewhere else, leaning against the spruce tree with a bottle of cheap whiskey and a set of bruised knuckles. He relished turning in front of the shiny cars, shooting them smiles as they gifted him rude gestures, slamming their fist onto dainty horns. 

8:15. His legs ached, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Circle after circle after circle, he focused on going faster than the last, fists clenched and teeth grinding. He could never bring himself to learn the tricks the other boys did, camping out in parking lots until they learned the newest show pony act. Tricks didn't keep him moving. Tricks didn't let him run.

9:00. Eddie could feel himself panting, the stain on his shirt spreading, his breath coming out in ragged puffs. Children played hopscotch and threw frisbees while mothers visited in yards and on porches. He could feel eyes on him as he passed, hushed whispers lingerings just out of his limp reach. He took no notice, his leg pushing him along in erratic spurts. 

"Hey."

One more circle. Two more, maybe three.

"Hey!"

It'll be over by then. He'll have drunk himself to sleep.

_"HEY!"_

The stranger caught his attention a second too late, head turning to frown in the shouter's direction just as his board hit a brown shape. The wood contraption flipped over, so did he. 

He landed on his elbows, and then his nose. By the time he picked himself back up, he could taste steel on his lips. Now painfully awake, he paid no attention to his quickly blossoming bruises and scrambled towards his discarded skateboard. Lying next to the deflated football that had downed it, he snatched it from the gravel. 

Countless vertical lines scratched through the beautiful mural, the angel's face unrecognizable. Unwillingly, Eddie felt a choked sob rise in his throat, clutching the board to his chest.

"What'd you do?" The stranger's grunting voice cut through the quiet air again, this time closer. Head swiveling and shoulders shaking, Eddie quickly struggled to his feet, smearing blood in an upward arch along his cheek as he attempted to wipe away streams running down his cheeks.

"Nothin'. Leave me alone." He made himself as tall as possible, but he still wilted in comparison to the huge teenager in front of him. No doubt the punctured ball had belonged to him, the evidence was in his biceps. Eddie had seen the athlete before around the school, but _talking_ to him had always been the last thing on his mind. 

Squinting, the blond loomed down at the boy, glancing at the damaged mural. "Your picture, it's uh, messed up." 

"I _know_ it's messed up." His voice cracked as he glared up at his classmate, holding the board a little tighter.

The taller boy seemed uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You took those sewin' classes, right? Back when the community center was open?"

Eddie was affronted by the question, quickly trying to defend himself. "M-my mother made me do them. It's not my fault." 

He gestured to the boy's board, "I could uh, fix that for you. If you fix somethin' for me."

The scrawnier boy frowned, tracing an edge of the wood absentmindedly. "You're not gonna beat me up?"

"Nah. Just need some help 's all." Beady eyes flickered from the board back up to his face. "C'mon." 

Eddie hesitantly allowed himself to be waved in the direction of a small white house, stumbling a little on the street curb. "My name's Eddie Gluskin." 

"Chris." The giant grunted, not turning back as he lumbered forward. 

With blood dripping onto his sweat stained t-shirt and dirt smeared everywhere above his knees, Eddie looked fit for a horror movie. Regardless, Chris led him straight into the spotless confines of the house, tugging him along when he stopped to take off his worn sneakers. 

"My mom's been a neat freak ever since my dad left." The boy told him as he stomped up the stairs. "Gives her somethin' to do when she gets home from the bar." 

Eddie could only nod as he held the board to his chest, cringing as his filthy sneakers made marks on the off white carpet.

Soon they arrived at their destination, a plain door identical to the others at the end of a narrow hallway. Chris turned the knob, slamming his shoulder against the wood when it got stuck. Finally giving way to the other's shoves, the door ricocheted open to reveal a simple, but sloppy room. One wall dedicated to a display shelf full off trophies, a wood cabinet, and a bed that looked far too small for it's owner.

"Here." Chris sat on the piece of comically tiny furniture, leaving Eddie to stand in the middle of the room. Glancing behind the other as if someone may be watching, the boy quickly pulled something out from under his pillow, his large hands masking the object. "You said you can sew." He said it as more of a statement than a question, glancing up at his guest with nervous eyes.

"Yeah. A little." Eddie frowned at the other's hands, racking his mind for what the quarterback could possibly want him to _sew_.

"Can you uh- can you fix this?" Red in the face, Chris adverted his eyes as he held out a worn pig stuffed animal, a few broken seams leaving it's right leg to hang off at an angle.

Involuntarily, the boy's eyebrows shot up a good inch. "Uhm- yeah, yeah sure. My thread and needle are at home." He stumbled forward, moving to take the small pig from the other's hands. However, when the jock reached for his skateboard, he retracted, brow furrowing. 

"I've gotta sand it. It got scratched." Chris reasoned, holding his hands up in front of him. "I'll fix it by tomorrow if you fix him. New design and everythin'." 

Reluctantly, Eddie nodded, handing over his treasured board in return for the injured pig. 

"Meet me here at 11. Might wanna change the shirt." Chris was already inspecting the wooden contraption, running large fingers along the damaged surface.

Eddie nodded, swiping at his nose and moving to leave, before hesitantly turning back around. "You promise?"

Chris looked up, before quickly snatching his gaze back down at the carpet. "Yeah, promise.

**Author's Note:**

> at 12 today my hell brain gave me 'ed skateboarding, but make it sad'
> 
> let me know how you like this/if i should continue it!
> 
> check out the blog for this au here: http://mt-massive-high.tumblr.com/


End file.
